Waking in Time

Angie Stanton

Description

Still mourning the loss of her beloved grandmother and shaken by her mysterious, dying request to "find the baby", Abbi has arrived at uni to start her first year. But on her second day, she wakes up to a different world: 1983. That is just the first stop on Abbi's journey backwards through time. Will is a charming student from 1927 who travels forwards through time. When Abbi and Will meet in the middle, love adds another complication to their lives. Communicating across time through a buried time capsule, they try to decode the mystery of their travel, find the lost baby and plead with their champion, a kindly physics tutor, to help them find each other again ... even though the tutor gets younger each time Abbi meets him. This page-turning story full of romance, twists and delightful details about uni life then and now will stay with readers long after the book's satisfying end.

Informations

• Publié par: Capstone Global Library
• Date de parution: 09 mars 2017
• Nombre de lectures: 0
• EAN13: 9781782025948
• Langue: English

Extrait

Contents Cover Title Page Dedication Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8 Chapter 9 Chapter 10 Chapter 11 Chapter 12 Chapter 13 Chapter 14 Chapter 15 Chapter 16 Chapter 17 Chapter 18 Chapter 19 Chapter 20 Chapter 21 Chapter 22 Chapter 23 Chapter 24 Author’s Note The Facts Behind the Story Acknowledgements About the Author Copyright Back Cover

Landmarks Cover Table of Contents Start of Content
List of Pages cover 2 3 4 5 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21 22 23 24 25 26 27 28 29 30 31 32 33 34 35 36 37 38 39 40 41 42 43 44 45 46 47 48 49 50 51 52 53 54 55 56 57 58 59 60 61 62 63 64 65 66 67 68 69 70 71 72 73 74 75 76 77 78 79 80 81 82 83 84 85 86 87 88 89 90 91 92 93 94 95 96 97 98 99 100 101 102 103 104 105 106 107 108 109 110 111 112 113 114 115 116 117 118 119 120 121 122 123 124 125 126 127 128 129 130 131 132 133 134 135 136 137 138 139 140 141 142 143 144 145 146 147 148 149 150 151 152 153 154 155 156 157 158 159 160 161 162 163 164 165 166 167 168 169 170 171 172 173 174 175 176 177 178 179 180 181 182 183 184 185 186 187 188 189 190 191 192 193 194 195 196 197 198 199 200 201 202 203 204 205 206 207 208 209 210 211 212 213 214 215 216 217 218 219 220 221 222 223 224 225 226 227 228 229 230 231 232 233 234 235 236 237 238 239 240 241 242 243 244 245 246 247 248 249 250 251 252 253 254 255 256 257 258 259 260 261 262 263 264 265 266 267 268 269 270 271 272 273 274 275 276 277 278 279 280 281 282 283 284 285 286 287 288 289 290 291 292 293 294 295 296 297 298 299 300 301 302 303 304 305 306 307 308 309 310 311 312 313 314 315 316 317 318 319 320 321 322 323 324 325 326 327 328 329 330 331 332 333 334 335 336 337 338 339 340 341 342 343 344 345 346 347 348 349 350 351 352 353 354 355 357 358 359 361 362 365 366 368 back cover

For Margo.
Your friendship is timeless.

CHAPTER 1
Grandma used to say, “When one door closes, a window opens. And if that doesn’t happen, throw a rock and break in.” She could always make me laugh, but the door has closed, and there is no window or rock I can use to reach her now.
It’s barely been a month, and the mound over her grave hasn’t settled yet. Mom and I stand on the thick carpet of damp grass and stare at her name etched beside my grandfather’s on grey marble, cold and final. Sharon R Bailey. How is it possible that I’ll never see her again?
“Today’s the day, Mom,” my mother says. “I’m driving Abbi to Madison, just like you both wanted.” Her voice breaks and I squeeze her hand.
My mom wanted me to stay close to home for college, in Ohio, but I always knew that the University of Wisconsin was where I belonged. I don’t know how Mom will do with both Grandma and me gone, but it’s too late to change my plans now.
“I miss you, Gram.” The words slip out as a whisper in the hope she can somehow hear me, but I don’t feel her presence. She’s not here. Maybe I’ll feel closer to her when I get to campus, a place I haven’t even seen yet. Gram’s sudden cancer diagnosis caused us to cancel our first visit, and when we tried to make the trip a few months later, she’d taken a turn for the worse. So, I’m going in blind to my new world. My hands twitch with anxiety.
We stand over her grave and try not to cry, missing the woman who could turn an average day into a grand adventure. After a while Mom sighs. “I suppose we should hit the road.”
“I love you, Grandma,” I whisper, sniffing back tears. I climb into Mom’s Murano, stuffed to the top with every can’t-live-without item we could think of, and we’re on our way to my new life.
* * *
After sharing driving duties, we pull into Madison that afternoon. The GPS guides us onto campus and we’re suddenly surrounded by students. I feel swallowed up by the massive buildings, some modern and new with gleaming windows and steel framing, others ancient with stone pillars and grand facades.
Mom creeps along in the car as students dart across the street in front of us and bikers whiz past. “This campus is huge. A private college would have offered a more personal experience,” Mom murmurs, biting her lip nervously.
“It’s a little late for that argument now.” My stomach jumbles with excited nerves at the prospect of how different my life will be here after growing up in a small town.
“I know, but I’m still allowed to worry. Don’t listen to me, though. Everything will be great. I’m sure Grandma was right – this is where you belong.” Mom squeezes my knee as she turns onto Observatory Drive. The road is steep and has tight turns that reveal a breathtaking view of shimmering Lake Mendota.
I roll down my window and the scent of fresh water reminds me of summer camp. A warm breeze blows through my hair. “I can get used to this ”
We continue on, taking in every detail of the campus from the thick woods on one side of the car to the numerous old buildings on the other. Mom suddenly points. “There’s that bell tower Grandma used to talk about.”
An impressive stone structure crowns the top of the hill. “The Carillon Tower,” I say, remembering Gram’s stories of how the bells could be heard all across campus. The tall square building towers high above the treetops with its decorative cornice and parapets.
The road dips down a hill and up another. We pull in front of a massive stone building, named Elizabeth Waters, with wings jutting out from the centre core like stacked Legos. We look at each other and then at the imposing building that will be my new home. My nerves bubble over again.
“Ready?” Mom asks, barely masking her own anxiety.
I’ve lived in the same house since I was four. This is going to take time to get used to, but I’m never one to shy away from a challenge. “Yup. Let’s do this.”
Inside the airy foyer, a curved wrought iron balustrade leads up to the main landing and office. There is a half-circle nook on either side, each containing a crescent-shaped upholstered bench.
Mom sits and rubs her hand over the fabric. “Look at these old benches – I think they’re covered in horse hair. If I didn’t know better, I’d say they were original ”
“Mom.” I wave her over to help me with the check-in paperwork. After collecting my room key and lanyard, which holds an ID that gets me into the building, we follow the corridor to the next wing, looking for room 4418. We pass bulletin boards bursting with social event notices, club sign-ups and floor meetings. Each dorm room door has the names of its residents written in thick black Sharpie on a bright orange star.
Students come and go, sidestepping past us to avoid bumping the two pillows in my arms, the oversized backpack on my shoulder and the giant suitcase Mom is pulling. Some say hi, others avoid eye contact. I try to appear friendly, but not overeager.
“There are so many boys,” Mom whispers, smiling at each one as they pass.
“Mom! Stop staring!”
“I can’t help it. They’re all so adorable. Oh, don’t forget the condoms. I put them in your purse – not that I’m condoning what you might do with these ”
I stop and turn on her. “Seriously, Mom. Please stop talking.”
She shrugs and feigns innocence but stays quiet.
We continue on until I find my room. “Abbi” is printed on one orange star alongside one that says “Jada” – the roommate I’ve only chatted with online a couple of times.
I slide my key into the solid old lock and turn. The door clicks, then swings open as if caught by an unseen breeze, and I’m drawn into my new home. One side of the room is fully moved in and the shelves are overflowing with snacks, mugs, framed photos and books. Star-shaped string lights are draped from the ceiling and posters of Beyoncé and Jay Z hang on the wall over the bed. There’s a coffeemaker and makeup mirror crowded onto the small desk, and a small TV on top of the microwave. A corkboard above holds pictures and necklaces secured with push pins.
My side of the room mirrors the layout but is in stark contrast with its sad blank walls, empty shelves and bare mattress.
“Home, sweet home,” Mom announces, bringing my monstrous rolling suitcase to a halt.
A minute later, a group of student volunteers appear with a luggage cart containing the rest of my belongings, and I’m soon surrounded by the chaos of unpacking